Page 44 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
“Katherine–?” Arthur quickly moved across the room, dropping to a knee as he quickly inspected the elder woman. Nothing seemed immediately wrong, though she acted as if something had just knocked the wind clean out of her.
“Arthur!”
He glanced behind his shoulder, finding Elspeth standing beneath the doorway, breathing heavy as she fought to catch it. Arthur’s blood froze over in his veins, immediately aware that something had happened with Olivia. Something weak shoved against his shoulder, and he turned back to watch as Katherine attempted to push past him and rise from her chair. “Ye’re in no shape fer that, Lady MacCulloh.”
“Arthur,”
“Stay here an’ help Olivia’s maither,” Arthur instructed. “Where’s Olivia now, Mam?”
“I saw a few men carrying her past the entrance–she’s fighting back something fierce, Arthur.”
That’s all Arthur needed to hear as he took off through the library door.
She had to fight back. She had to strike them–just one of them–or she would be taken away from here. Back to MacCulloh’s keep, into the arms of men who wanted to do terrible things to her.
“--livia–!”
She’d seen them before Flora had, just as they’d reached the edge of the forest’s territory. The thundering of hooves caught her ear, freezing her in place as horsemen drew out from the shade of the trees. Their banners flickered like shadows, snapping in the air and sending Olivia’s heart into a frenzy.
“--take her–!”
No; they wouldn’t take her. Not as long as she drew breath, and not as long as Flora would be in just as much danger. A swarm of arms continued to grasp for her, pull her upright and drag her away. Even as the world spun out around her, some part of Olivia managed to strike back, her balled fists connecting with faces while her feet struck out against ankles. Then, the largest of them grabbed her and held her tightly, restricting her arms and trying to speak over her shrieking.
“--via! Olivia!”
Kill her–he might as well kill her, because reasoning with her wasn’t going to,
“Selkie, it’s me!”
Olivia blinked. Blinked furiously. Arthur’s face began to appear through the haze, eye wide with concern and nose somewhat bloodied. She gasped, realizing what she had done, and she tried her best to apologize, words blurred through hysterics and tears.
“Selkie, it’s alright…” Arthur squeezed her tightly, and Olivia felt herself begin to center once more. The chaos slowly shaped itself into the sky, bruising with purple as the evening continued to creep across it. The blur of shapes became MacDonnell’s keep, the faceless villains kinfolk that only looked at her with genuine concern. No one was out to get her. No one was going to hurt her.
Olivia clung to Arthur’ as if she were to drown otherwise, still racing to catch her breath. She buried her face into his chest, hugging him just as tightly back, and slowly, the world became safe once more.
“M-M’laird,”
“Go and find our healer immediately. Flora,”
“Aye; I’ll ready her room.”
Conversation continued around Olivia, but she focused solely on her breathing. Arthur’s hands gently covered her, protected her, each step he took helping her to steady her heartbeat.
The rest of the evening drifted in a daze around her, with what felt like dozens of women catering to Olivia every whim. They freed her from her mud-streaked dress and tied her wild mane of hair up and out of her face, dabbing at it with a refreshingly cool cloth. She was then dressed in a delightfully soft gown before being surrounded in a throne of pillows and layers of quilts, and Olivia was certain she’d never seen so many dishes of food before in her life, nor knew what it meant to truly eat to the point of bursting.
Eventually, Flora managed to shoo the women away, leaving Olivia a moment’s peace. She sank into the pillows with a sigh, embarrassment still burning hot against her face. “Ooh, Olivia–ye caused such a stir just now.” More than anything, she wished she could vanish under the mound of quilts, drift off to sleep and awake the next morning as if nothing had happened. A dream–no, a passing nightmare–but the blurry scene continued to play on repeat in Olivia’s head. “Ye eejit, Olivia–they’ll think yer some broken lass who cannae be trusted outside, let alone by yerself.”
And, much to her discomfort, Olivia wondered if that was perhaps true. If her clan truly had broken something inside of her, taken away her peace of mind. It was the first time, in quite some time since arriving at MacDonnell’s keep, that Olivia felt such intense unease.
23
It wasn’t long before the sound of footsteps echoed outside her door, and Olivia listened as Arthur seemed to be arguing with Flora.
“Arthur, ye werenae too harsh wit them, were ye? They hardly meant to cause her a fright,”
“Those men’ll train until they remember how to present themselves.”
Olivia grimaced slightly; so the warriors that had rode in were being punished for her foolishness.
